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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668611">of the world forever</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/pseuds/lateralplosion'>lateralplosion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>NCT (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Not K-Pop Idols, COVID-19 Timeline, Gift Giving, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:13:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,744</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27668611</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lateralplosion/pseuds/lateralplosion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>More than anything, this is what Chenle misses the most—the time.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Park Jisung/Zhong Chen Le</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>175</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>of the world forever</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/moodmaker/gifts">moodmaker</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>happy chenle day and happy belated crys day T___TTT♡ my dearest crys moodmaker, i hope u can accept this humble chenji offering..... enjoy!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Shanghai goes into lockdown first.</p><p>Three days later, Seoul follows. Jisung isn't allowed to go see his grandparents, he tells Chenle over a video call one night, and it's obvious that Jisung had been crying. They had been visiting from Busan, were supposed to stay the rest of the week. Just by chance, they'd decided to leave early. An instance of bad luck, bad timing. Chenle isn't used to that. Good luck is having your parents and grandparents under one roof, like Chenle's family. He doesn't know what to say to Jisung that night, or for the next nights that follow. For that to be the first thing that splinters, the one thing Chenle had been so sure they'd all have forever, is unthinkable.</p><p>Chenle's flight back to Korea gets cancelled, and he spends three hours locked in his room staring up at his ceiling. His mother knocks and leaves a plate of mango outside his door, but Chenle lets it get old and tasteless.</p><p>They were supposed to go down to Busan together, right before the start of the term. He remembers the way Jisung had described it, his eyes lighting up the way they always do when he's talking about something he loves. The brine in the air, the infinite sprawling of the streets. The way that the roads seemed to go straight out into the ocean. The way that the subway somehow always smelled like the sea.</p><p>"I'll take you to Jalgachi Fish Market," Jisung had promised. "And we'll eat live squid together."</p><p>Chenle remembers laughing and shoving Jisung back with a cackle. "You'll chicken out and I'll have to eat yours for you!"</p><p>"Would that be so bad?" Jisung had asked.</p><p>And no, Chenle thinks now. It would not have been. He would have eaten Jisung's squid with relish, if only just to see the horror and disgust on his face. But even if none of that had happened, Chenle thinks that it would have been enough just to be with him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Basketball is shut down two weeks into world-wide quarantine, and Jisung lets Chenle whine at him on the phone for forty-five minutes, commiserating in the way only a person who knows close to nothing about the sport could.</p><p>Chenle ends up corralling Jisung into getting onto a video call with him to watch one of Chenle's old recorded games. Jisung is annoying about it at first, asking too many questions about who the players' names are and why the referee keeps making calls he doesn't understand, but Chenle doesn't care. It's one in the morning and he's wearing his violet Golden State Warriors jersey and cheering for all of Stephen Curry's plays, and Jisung is on his screen five hundred miles away, tenatively clapping along with him.</p><p>It is enough, just for a night. For Chenle to not feel like he's so alone.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And perhaps, more than anything, this is what Chenle misses the most—the time.</p><p>Spending time—killing time, wasting time—had always been so easy when it came to Jisung, but Chenle doesn't have that now. The pandemic takes so much from them, in this hell of a year that Chenle wants to already forget—changes and opportunities and institutions and lives. It takes away hope, for a while, but the thing about hope is that it always returns.</p><p>Time, on the other hand, does not.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Classes resume in March, and Chenle spends most of them trying not to get caught in bed, phone in one hand and tablet in another. He and Jisung were supposed to have a class together this semester, the one instance where it would have aligned in both their schedules and degree progress and therefore made it possible.</p><p>And, technically, Jisung is still in his class now. But instead of sitting next to him in a lecture hall kicking him under the seats, Chenle has to settle for sending Jisung a meme every ten minutes.</p><p><em>i'm actually trying to pay attention, you know</em>, Jisung texts him, and even in his head Chenle can hear Jisung's voice—affronted, endeared.</p><p>Chenle grins down at his phone, forgetting that he has his webcam on. <em>you're so boring~</em></p><p>But Chenle turns back to his tablet and puts his phone away for the rest of lecture.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chenle meets Renjun after five months in, when Renjun has free time and domestic travel is back up and running. Renjun looks so very tired, nursing his cup of tea and staring out of the cafe window they're sitting at, a large, oversized table stuck in between them.</p><p>"It's weird, isn't it?" Renjun is saying. "We left for break in February, thinking we'd be back for the next year."</p><p>Chenle snorts. "It's not weird, it's ironic. We were supposed to be studying abroad, but now we're just stuck at home."</p><p>Renjun gives him a wry smile that Chenle can discern even through the mask. "We're still technically studying though, aren't we? Imagine them putting that on their brochures next year—<em>Study abroad from the comfort of your own home!</em>"</p><p>"Ha ha." Chenle rolls his eyes and stirs his drink, watching the bits of loose tea swirl to the top of his cup. "Very funny."</p><p>It's a small attempt of normalcy, a residue of a life that had been wiped clean until further notice. Sitting here with Renjun in a cafe to try to fill the gaps in his routine, the way they've done hundreds of times before. Except this time, Renjun's dorm isn't just down the street, and Chenle won't be able to call Jisung up to study at three in the morning, after Renjun's excused himself and left to go to Jaemin's.</p><p>"Hey," he says quietly. "Is it strange if I'm feeling homesick?"</p><p>Renjun fixes him with an even, sympathetic gaze. "We are home, Chenle."</p><p>"I know," Chenle says. Home can be more than one place, he knows that. "But even still—I feel homesick."</p><p>For a long moment, Renjun just looks at him from across the table, and Chenle hopes he isn't as transparent as he feels. That his skin isn't plastic and his bones aren't glass and his heart isn't visible—raw and red and pumping.</p><p>"I kind of get it," Renjun says, gentle. Chenle exhales. He had a feeling that Renjun would understand. "Not every home has to be a place."</p><p>A different kind of home, Chenle thinks. Not just places, but people too.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"Let's mail each other shit," Chenle tells Jisung on their next videocall. On his screen, Jisung's slightly pixel-y image scrunches its nose.</p><p>"You mean like a care package?"</p><p>"Like a I'm-getting-bored-of-this-pandemic-and-I-just-think-it-would-be-fun-to-open-something package," Chenle says. "Or a care package, sure. What do you think?"</p><p>It had been an idea he'd gotten on a whim. Something he'd seen online, as an example of what people do when the distance is both inevitable and unbearable. A suggestion he'd thrown out basically on impulse, but now—as he watches Jisung sit there quietly to contemplate it—he's realizing just how much he wants Jisung to say yes. </p><p>"Okay," Jisung says finally. "Let's do it."</p><p>"Cool," Chenle says, counterpoint to the sudden quickening of his heart, very much not cool. "I'll send you my address, and you send me yours?"</p><p>"You already know where I live, though."</p><p>"Not with all the formatting stuff I don't. Just send it to me again."</p><p>Jisung sighs deeply. "Okay, I'll text it to you. What do you want?"</p><p>"Uh—" Chenle hadn't actually thought this far in advance. "I don't know—anything? Be creative. Surprise me!"</p><p>"But you hate surprises though," Jisung says, a touch sulky.</p><p>"No, <em>you</em> hate surprises. Remember that one time Jaemin-hyung bought you a new set of airpods and you almost started crying?"</p><p>"Shut up," Jisung mumbles. "Okay, fine. I'll put together something."</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Chenle keeps fidgeting in his seat, watching as Jisung carefully pries open the cardboard box. He'd sent him a photo of the box earlier that day—<em>i got your care package!</em> he'd texted, and Chenle had immediately pestered his mom for the mail. Turns out that Jisung's package had arrived the same day as well.</p><p>They'd agreed to open them at the same time on Facetime, so Chenle propped his phone up against his monitor and waited until Jisung picked up his call.</p><p>"Well?" he demands now, watching as Jisung pulls out the plastic wrapped jacket. It's Stussy, which he knows that Jisung likes, and extra baggy, which for some reason Jisung tends to favor over clothes that fit more close-cut. Through his phone screen, Jisung's expression is hard to parse as he turns the plastic covered hoodie over and over in his hands.</p><p>"Well, take it out of the plastic, you idiot," Chenle says, laughing. "Try it on! I got it extra big the way you like it."</p><p>Jisung still hasn't said anything, which is mildly concerning, but he does as Chenle says and pulls the jacket out of the plastic to try it on. Chenle feels a huge grin spread across his face as he sees Jisung zip it up, standing up for a second to yank it down properly.</p><p>Finally, Jisung looks back up. "Chenle-yah—"</p><p>"Wow," Chenle calls, and wolf-whistles. "I have excellent taste. You look good, Jisung-ah! You should let me dress you more often, when I go back there."</p><p>"Chenle-yah," Jisung says again, and it's his tone that makes Chenle pause. "Did you buy this for me?"</p><p>Chenle crosses his arms. "Well, yeah, I didn't beg my mom to buy it for you, idiot. That's the whole point!"</p><p>Jisung unzips his jacket quietly. "That's not the whole point, Chenle-yah."</p><p>A slow unease rises in Chenle's throat, a feeling he is familiar enough with but still not yet comfortable. "What do you mean?"</p><p>Jisung folds the Stussy jacket up neatly and sets it back down onto the box. "Did you open mine yet?"</p><p>Chenle frowns and looks down at the half-cut tape. He rips the remaining tape off with his hands, and opens the box. Inside is an oversized package of Home Run Ball snacks, a new pack of hand warmers, a box of LEMONA vitamin sticks, and cough drops. There are also packs of tissues, a selection of sealed face masks, and two small tubes of hand sanitizer, most likely courtesy of Jisung's mother. He closes the box carefully, and looks back up at the screen to see Jisung watching him glumly.</p><p>"Did I mess up?" Chenle asks quietly. This is entirely new territory for him, the discomfort. The awkwardness. Chenle is so very used to things going right, and this small agonizing moment is lodging itself in his ribcage, spreading his bones apart like a retractor.</p><p>"I think we both did," Jisung says, just as quiet. "I guess I thought that a care package is supposed to be—you don't just buy something, you know? It's about the effort. I think."</p><p>Chenle swallows. "But I did put effort into buying this for you," he says, much more defensively than he wanted to. "I know what style you like, I know what brand—it's not like I just did this without thinking."</p><p>Jisung winces. "I never said that. I guess I just—" He puts a hand on the Stussy box and sighs deeply. "I wish you didn't spend this kind of money on me. Just—something simple would've been fine."</p><p>Chenle nods, unsure of what to say. The thing is that Chenle doesn't do well with simple. He likes his words to shout, his colors to scream, and his actions to be bold. When Chenle gives a gift, he wants that impact. This is the only way he knows how.</p><p>So it is mildly uncomfortable, then, to look down at the contents of Jisung's package, spread out all over his desk. To think about Jisung meticulously planning what he'd put inside, every single item chosen with deliberate intent. It is such a Jisung thing to do, to inject such a tender thoughtfulness into something so simple, something that Chenle had completely taken for granted.</p><p>"I have to do homework now," Jisung says. He sounds so very far away. "Talk to you tomorrow."</p><p>After Jisung hangs up, Chenle does not move for a long time, staring down at Jisung's care package and trying to figure out what exactly had went wrong. He touches the package of Home Run Ball gently, and wonders how Jisung had known that this is the snack he'd been missing the most.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next time Chenle sees Renjun, he's wearing a jacket two sizes too big for him. It doesn't matter that the air in Shanghai is already starting to go thick and swollen with heat; Renjun refuses to take it off completely, opting to tie it around his waist when the warmth eventually gets too much.</p><p>"Something about that particular jacket?" Chenle raises his eyebrows at Renjun from across the table. Renjun is sweating around the neck, but they both are—the extra spicy hot pot that they're sharing the most likely culprit.</p><p>Renjun flushes—or Chenle thinks he flushes (again, it might be the spice). "It's from Jaemin."</p><p>Chenle frowns. "Like, actually from Jaemin-hyung? He sent you his jacket?"</p><p>Renjun sets his chopsticks down carefully and affixes him with an even gaze. "I told him I missed him. So he sent this to me."</p><p>And when Renjun steals the last water chestnut from Chenle's plate, he doesn't complain.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>"What is it," Jisung asks, and even over Facetime his doubt is plain on his face.</p><p>Chenle shakes his head. "Just open it," he says.</p><p>Jisung makes a low noise of protest. "You didn't tell me we were gonna exchange more packages."</p><p>"This isn't an exchange," Chenle says, and puts his hands in his lap. "Hurry up—"</p><p>"Okay," Jisung says. "Sheesh." He gets the last bit of tape off, and then Jisung goes quiet as soon as he opens the box. This time, Chenle's even more anxious, leaning forward to stare at his phone screen.</p><p>"What—" Jisung says, lifting out another hoodie. This one isn't wrapped in plastic, instead soft and worn and probably smelling of laundry detergent. "Chenle-yah—" Jisung's voice sounds oddly thick. "Is this yours?"</p><p>Chenle grins, and rocks forward in his chair. "You always steal it anyway! I figured maybe I should just ship it off to you for now. So you can wear it or something and maybe not miss me as much. Or chuck it out the window—I don't care."</p><p>Jisung looks up at the camera, and Chenle's next words get stuck in his throat. It takes a lot to make Chenle cry, and this won't do it either, but it comes close. Jisung is looking at the hoodie like it's spun out of gold, touching it like it will fall apart at any second, and yeah—this comes really close.</p><p>"Chenle-yah," Jisung whispers, and holds the jacket close to his chest. "I'll—I'll wear it. But—I don't know how much it'll help with missing you—"</p><p>Chenle swallows down over the lump in his throat, and nods. "Look in the box, you dummy."</p><p>Frowning, Jisung looks back down into the box, and his eyes widen. He picks the box up and turns it upside down, spilling intricately folded origami cranes out onto his bed. "What's this?"</p><p>"Time," Chenle says simply. It's the best thing he could have given him, the three hours of his life that he spent learning how to fold and make the birds. This is the one thing that had been taken from them, the one thing that Chenle was so sure they'd never get back, now all laid down and spread out against Jisung's duvet. Seconds and minutes pressed into every crease, the secrets and dreams that Chenle's tucked into the folds. </p><p>Jisung is actually crying now, holding one of the cranes to his chest and probably crushing it against Chenle's hoodie, but Chenle doesn't care. "I miss you," Jisung is saying, though it's garbled with sobs he's trying to suppress. "I wish you could come back."</p><p>"When this is over, I will," Chenle says. When this is all over, and they can pick up right where they left off. It's not so much a promise as it is a declaration. Chenle is good at keeping promises, but he's better at keeping his eyes forward. The pandemic had taken from them so much time, and so Chenle figured out a way to give it back.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i hope you liked it ;___; </p><p>(pls comment ♡)</p><p><a href="http://twitter.com/plosionlateral">twt</a> | <a href="http://curiouscat.me/wayschanged">cc</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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